


Angelo pt1

by JetnessAffliction



Series: Angelo Backstory - Trash Edition [1]
Category: Gundam Unicorn, Universal Century Gundam
Genre: M/M, complete and utter trash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-04 13:34:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1780954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JetnessAffliction/pseuds/JetnessAffliction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Working title: [  Other Faggot with a Rose, Backstory, 2000% Trash Edition ]. This is Angelo's backstory from the Gundam Unicorn Novels, edited from the fan translation and fleshed out and as trashy as I could make it, because Fukui basically wrote it like a bullet point list of BL tropes, and /m/ seemed curious. It's Angelo, anything goes.</p><p>-- I take absolutely no credit for this translation. while the original translation has spoilers through the end of  the Gundam Unicorn Anime, this is written as an Anime prequel, and eventually Angelo's POV, motivations, struggles, and all that trash through the events of Gundam Unicorn anime and side-story manga --</p><p>Section 1 Covers UC 0079 to early UC 0094, before joining Neo Zeon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angelo pt1

“You really love that blanket, don’t you, Angelo?”

 

A soft, unblemished white sheet.

 

The smoothness of the fabric seeped into Angelo’s skin, engulfing him in warmth all the way through to the very center of him, where it pulsed and took root.

 

“Angelo… You know mama can’t do the laundry with you there.” A gentle smile closed over his mother’s words and her slender fingers brushed Angelo’s face before threading through his light, curly hair. He simply buried himself further, smiling and giggling all the while.

 

Still wrapped in the soft white sheet, his tiny body was suddenly scooped into the burly arms of his father and he was lifted high, laughing in earnest. When he peeked out, he saw the rest of the sheets crumpled on the bed, silky waves forming a sea of pure white. It was a sanctified ground that ebbed with safety and warmth, where horrible things, the filth and corruption of the world, could never stain.

 

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**The year was UC 0079. Side 3. The City of Globe. Angelo Sauper was barely out of infancy, but humanity was on the cusp of the next stage of evolution and it was his misfortune to be born in this era, in that city, and at the mercy of time.**

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

**“3”**

 

Drops of bright red splattered onto the sheets and Angelo watched as the blood stains darkened and spread where they fell, marring. A Federation soldier had smashed a rifle butt against his father’s nose, and with each successive hit his father’s face crumpled inward, red and glistening, until it was completely demolished. Those strong arms were limp now, useless, and his father’s body fell backward. Dark red surged and spurted, seeping into the white fabric in cruel conquest.

 

“Murderers!!” his mother screamed, but the soldiers only sneered in response as they tightened their grip on her. Angelo watched from a gap in the closet as Mama’s face was distorted with horror and Papa laid still, a slab of meat drenched in blood.

 

“What is this Zeon pig even saying?” A soldier retorted, his voice layered with anger “Anti and Luppi were killed because you animals dropped a colony on them..!” They pushed her onto the bed and followed, their dirt and blood stained boots trampling on the white sheets as they held her down. Angelo couldn’t see her face anymore, only her pale legs jutting out, flailing like the hands of a broken clock between the soldiers’ bodies as they wormed and twisted around, undressing.

 

 _They’re eating her_ Angelo realized, _She’s being chewed up._ He couldn’t make a sound, not just because his father had told him to stay quiet, but because there was nothing in his tiny body that could process it. As he watched, he too was being broken down along with his mother; eaten, gnawed, devoured, crushed.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

**“10”**

 

The sheets on Mama’s bed were crisp and spotless, but cold as ice. She sat there, eyes frozen in their gaze out the window. It was her birthday, and Angelo had come with a rose brooch for her, to give the transparent shadow she had become some color.

Mama never saw the purple of that brooch. Her body was there, but her heart had been shattered. Even after Angelo carefully pinned it over that void in her chest, she never noticed him.

“It’s been 7 years since, hasn’t it? She survived Globe, but in that state….”

 

“I heard that her late husband was a colleague, but to think that the Master would take her in… She’s not even really a wife, not like that, right?”

 

“Actually, the rumor is that the Master kept her alive to gain more privileges for that job, he just divorced his previous wife and took her instead. You see, the Master's needs are more like…”

 

The servants' incessant chatter was easily heard from the other edge of the room and Angelo listened as he sat beside his mother. At age 10, he was still carefully piecing together what had been crushed at Globe. Bit by bit, reassembling tiny fragments of himself. But there was still something missing: Mama was still in shards.

 

A shadow passed behind him.

 

A heavy, damp hand came down on Angelo’s slender shoulders and he flinched in shock.

 

“It looks like Mama’s heart is still far away.” Angelo froze, breath caught in his throat as he recognized that shallow sympathy in his step-father's voice. “It's time to pray, Angelo... Come pray with Papa...”

 

 _No, you're not Papa._ But Angelo's denial was unheard, and fear was rolling though his body. He was ushered by that heavy, damp hand into the master bedroom.

 

Angelo knew what this was, this ritual. Every night since he was nine, he and Papa would “pray” here so that that Mama could live on. When it first happened, he protested and fought back. He wanted to take his mother and run away. But she only stared, frozen and unseeing, unable to leave that frigid bed, unable to live anywhere else except on those cold, white sheets. Mama was nothing more than a breathing corpse in a shroud. Still, Angelo would pray.

 

“That's right, what a good boy..” A slimy, wet tongue traveled with sick fervor, sticking across his shoulder, then his neck, before lapping greedily over his chest. He no longer trembled each time this slab of human meat chewed on him, teeth clamping mercilessly over his nipples or on the tender skin over his ribs. Though he lay still, he could feel the simmering nausea each time this bastard gnawed on the fragments of his soul. But Angelo learned to endure. “Someday,” his step-father’s damp breath over his heart burned and ached, “someday our prayer will reach your mother...”

 

Angelo turned over obediently, a thick, bitter bile stuck in his throat as he settled quietly on his knees, but he endured. The putrid smell of the older man's sweat, acidic and rancid, overpowered him, but he endured. For Mama's sake, he braced against the bed, hands flat and fingers splayed in the sheets as that tongue wormed lower over his hips and lingered at the small of his back. Night after night, he endured those sweaty palms spreading him wide and damp, stubby fingers scraping inside of him. He wouldn't betray even a whimper, but when that slab of rotten, human flesh flattened on top of him and shoved in, panting hard in his ears, the shock and pain was too much. Each time, with his teeth ground tight, Angelo watched as his tears fell on the sheets, dyeing the fabric darker where they landed. They added to the other stains; blood and shit and sweat and all of it, filth on once pure-white fibers.  

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

**“12”   (UC 0089)**

His prayers were never heard. His mother had jumped to her death from the balcony when the servants weren't watching. Angelo didn't cry. He had known from the start that praying was useless, but that wasn't why. His tears were not shed for times of loss, they were to remind him of when he was covered in filth.

 

Angelo didn't attend the funeral either. He ran away from the mansion instead, wandering through the colonies until he reached a street filled with people just like him- ruined and soiled. It was laughably easy for a child like him to travel through the colonies then, when the republic was full of rumors about the return of The Zabi Heir. But just as rumors flew about how Spacenoids would soon collect their blood debt from Earth, there was even more talk of The Heir and the revival of Zeon being a joke, a wasted idea. Even when a colony was dropped on Dublin, no one whispered about justice. Not here, a place where the neon lit roads reeked of something familiar. Angelo had no concern for Earth or The Heir or any of it, he only needed to survive and without any skills he resorted to experience. He soon learned that as long as he had his body he wouldn't go hungry. Even when he was nothing but a gnawed and battered wreck, there was no shortage of customers waiting to devour the slivers of him left.

 

Two, this time. One pulling at his frail shoulders until he was dragged and twisted sideways into a hairy, waiting lap, the other, mouthing at his thin ankle, slobbering against it, and holding it high in the air before forcing it over a sweaty shoulder. Angelo grabbed whatever scrap of the bedsheet he could for an anchor. He squeezed his eyes shut, squeezed his hand around the cheap cotton tighter, let his jaw drop open when ordered. Nausea was boiling hot deep inside him and even though he gagged, he kept going, the thick bitter taste so powerful he couldn't help the tears that welled up. He wanted to vomit. He wanted to purge every foul drop of sweat and saliva and cum that ever touched him, but it was impossible now. His knees jerked uncontrollably when the other man thrust in and when they both moved in and out of him in a merciless frenzy, grunting and filling the room with their raspy heaving, his tears were shaken free, overflowing. He dug his fingers into the creaky mattress. Even his nails scraped the dirt off the thin fabric, collecting it. It was so impossible, now.

 

He was full of it.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

**“15”**

 

He ended up in Palau, a remote mining asteroid of Side 6's jurisdiction that was slowly being squeezed dry. The population was dense and dirty and accustomed to injustice at the hands of the Federation. The day he arrived, one of the thugs in charge of babysitting him and collecting his 'protection fees' smirked as he raked his eyes over  Angelo's naked body, “looks like an Angel fell into our shithole,” His hungry eyes drilled into the young teen's, waiting for a response.

 

 _That's right. Why care now about how low I've fallen... if I keep sinking, one day someone will just dump me on the street to die like the other vermin._ He brushed the wavy fringe of his hair aside, and stared back evenly, quietly. _When that happens, a real angel will take me up, and that will be the end of it._

 

“What's with that look, brat?” The thug grabbed Angelo's chin, yanking the teen's whole body closer. But his tone was more amused than angry. “You better be careful or that pretty face of yours is gonna get wrecked worse than your ass. You think you're something special? There are tight little holes like yours all over this fucking place. ”

 

Vulgar, but true. Not that he could care much. Angelo didn't fear this man. Angelo couldn’t remember the last time he feared anything. Though he did want to get this over with. His body acted on habit, head and neck angling slightly until the thug's grip gave a bit. But rather than shaking the other’s hand off entirely he nuzzled against it, eyes still fixed, challenging, even as his lips brushed against the rough, calloused palm and his tongue slid across thick fingers.

 

An amused sort of grunt, short derisive laughter, then suddenly he was slammed backward against the wall, hips crushed and knees nudged apart in a fury. Angelo just laughed back, sneering when he felt that familiar pressure against his thigh, hard and impatient. He pressed back, sliding his leg against it, sneering and taunting, “No, there aren't.”

\-------------------------

 

He woke up alone in his new room, aching from head to toe with bruises already showing on his hips. Aside from the dulled thudding and moans next door it was quiet. Aside from the fact that he would be tossed out the second he was useless, he was safe. It was enough. He curled up on his side, the rough sheets scratched at his skin and irritated his memories but it was enough and he would get used to it.

 

After a few months, there wasn’t any more pain.

 

If he didn’t have faith then he wouldn’t be betrayed. If there was nothing that he wanted, then there would be nothing to lose. It was easier that way, easier than forcing ideas like “trust” or “the future” into his head.

 

And when the wretchedness and filth inside him started seeping out again, he would just numb it with alcohol or drugs.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

**“16” (UC 0093)**

 

A year later in Palau, the far flung treasure that it was, everyone was different. Everyone was paying attention, hungry and disgustingly desperate. Years after The Heir disappeared, another figurehead rose up. Or rather, reappeared, in red and gold glory, with fleets of ships and pilots and ultimatums for the Earth Federation and at first Angelo scoffed at the excited rumors and isolated himself from their hope.

 

Char Aznable. Casval Deikun. Neo-Zeon. The names meant nothing to Angelo at first, but then Fifth Luna crashed into Tibet, decimating the Federation capitol there and killing millions, and it seemed like Earth’s apocalypse was near. He paid attention after that. He watched on the news as Axis sank into the Earth’s atmosphere, bright and burning with Zeon’s fury. For a moment, he did want it. Revenge. Change. The charred embers of those ideas that Spacenoids had kept burning for generations. He watched as Axis sunk lower, set against a backdrop of scattered explosions and crossing beams of light. Just at that moment, that burning ember sparked in him. Revenge on the bastards that razed Globe and shattered his family, his future. Revenge on the corrupt elites that perpetuated this hell hole. He held his breath with the rest, mouth gaping in disbelief:

 

He watched as Axis suddenly shifted off target and the colors became distorted on screen.

 

It was over.

 

Zeon’s savior was gone. Earth was spared.

 

They had come so close.  

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

**“17” (UC 0094)**

“Time’s up” a gruff voice came from outside his room.

 

“Just a bit longer,” his customer yelled back, already fighting for breath. “I came all the way from Zum City for this one, you know?!”

 

Angelo couldn’t bother being flattered. He kept working, teasing the man’s thick, swollen cock with his tongue and swallowing it until he almost choked, coating it with spit. He moved with his whole body, one hand steadying the base as he started fingering himself with the other because he knew this rotten slab of flesh wouldn't care either way.

 

“Fine.. another 20 then..”

 

“I’ll pay, I’ll pay..!” The customer groaned, fisting his hand impatiently in Angelo’s hair.

 

It had been a while since he'd had a bath, and the previous customer's stench lingered in the stained sheets, rank and sharp when his face was pressed into the rough fabric. But the drugs were slowly kicking in and soon Angelo could ignore it. He shuddered as a wave of heat throbbed in him and crawled onto his knees, his nerves coming alive as sweat and saliva dripped from the other man's cock when it slid, back and forth between his thighs. His skin was flushed, prickling all over as large hands pressed into him, swept over his back and hips in crude, possessive swipes before spreading his asscheeks  wide. Everything burned when he felt that slick, eager cock against his twitching hole. Angelo could feel the world vaporizing, fumes that carried every last regret or shred of dignity he had as the high set in, rushing like a blazing assault on his senses.

 

“Oh, you are too much...” the bastard growled as Angelo pressed back, hungry. “Perfect.. beautiful..”

 

Angelo knew this type. A middle-aged, white collar sort who likely had a wife and kids waiting for him to return home. When he was done, he'd probably dress in a hurry and flee the brothel like he was terrified of being infected. _How weird_ Angelo ignored his words, lips twisting at the thought. He used to be the one corrupted and now he was corrupting others. The filthier he became, the more he could he could disgrace others. That was what he had become now, Angelo realized, reveling in the twisted comfort he felt from it, moaning shamelessly as he was suddenly impaled, pain and heat so pure they burned white-hot up his spine. He was so hard, he was losing his mind.

 

The man started thrusting, rough and deep and groaning with pleasure. The distorted sound filled Angelo's head and he pumped his hips back, wanting more.

 

Suddenly the bastard pulled out and shuffled Angelo's body onto his back. “Don't..!!” Angelo yelped, horrified, “Don't look at me..!” he brought his arms up to shield his face as shame and lust burned across it.

 

“I'm going to watch you cum,” he laughed and yanked Angelo's right arm away, pinning it against the mattress. His other hand wrapped tight around Angelo's straining cock, pumping and wringing him out drop by drop.

 

Angelo was breathing hard, chest heaving in an attempt to cool his overheated body. He grit his teeth as his body betrayed him, dripping sweat and leaking cum. He snarled as each rough stroke, each determined thrust struck deep and eroded him with that relentless friction, that unyielding pressure. _This can't be happening,_ the fragmented thought came through like a shock of electricity, for a brief second more intense than the sparks of pleasure that layered and surged through his nerves, shaking him terribly.   _No...! this can’t still be happening!!_  though the words never made it past his lips, he heard them in his head, roaring and angry. Angelo's free hand shot up and clawed at the heavy slab of rotten flesh over him, nails digging deep into the sweaty, greasy skin of the bastard's chest and squeezing as everything coiled inside him, hips jerking and legs drawing the other body closer. If he could just _tear this animal's heart out--!_

 

Everything snapped. Angelo’s moans were ripped for him and he came in a dizzy rush of scorn and ecstasy, gasping as milky cum spilled onto his glossy skin. He crashed hard from the high, teeth clenched and brows drawn tight, shaking with enmity as the bastard groaned, pulled out and pumped foul strings of cum all over him, mixing it with his own.

 

Freed, he covered his face with his arms again. Every inch of his body was exposed and raw, a livewire sparking in alarm at every drop of fluid that touched him.

 

The customer dressed in a hurry to get back to his wife and children and fled the brothel as if terrified of being infected.

 

Angelo laid there, gasping in the stale air and repugnant stench, overflowing with filth. He was so full of it he could die. But he couldn't, no, not yet. He needed to vomit first.

 

He needed to purge himself until he was clean.

 

He laid there, shaking as anger flashed through him, catching in his throat. Tears gathered from that burning well deep inside and his nails dug into his palms until there were red welts He held his breath, held the tears back. Not this time. His mind cleared, and focused on a single cold thought: It would never be enough…. The clarity of that thought washed over him, tempered him.

 

He needed to purge _everything_.

 

\------------------------------------------------

 

The next few months he was restless and uncontrollable. When a customer hit him or mocked him, he paid them back in kind, not even caring if his face was scratched or bruised.  Even after seeing others from the brothel being coldly tossed aside, it didn’t matter to him, not in comparison to his anger. They took away his alcohol. Drugs. Even food. On some nights he sustained himself just on rage alone. _That isn’t it Angelo_ thought after another customer had left and he shot up in bed, sitting with the filthy sheets pooled around his waist. A searing heat flared in his mind and he felt it could burn away the whole world. But even if he did, it wouldn’t be enough.

 

He was too young when the tragedy at Globe happened, and because of his mother, his burden, he never thought of taking it out on that disgusting slab of flesh that was his step-father. Even when she died and that burden had vanished he never thought to do so. Maybe because he knew deep down that that man’s death wouldn’t be enough to completely purge himself, and it wasn’t worth losing his freedom over killing that pathetic man anyway.   

 

The restless anger inside him could vaporize filth at any moment, but it needed another way to escape.

 

 _Perhaps all I need is a trigger_ , Angelo thought, brushing his hair from his forehead and staring at a single halogen bulb fixed on the ceiling. _To use this energy I need someone else to squeeze the trigger.. that’s probably not going to be a person.._ He narrowed his eyes as the dim, unnatural light flickered, _Humans are too weak. Humans betray each other, they rob each other… destroy and corrupt others and pollute the world. I have to raze them all, but I need something higher than a filthy human._

_A God?_

_A Devil?_

Angelo didn’t care which.

 

_All I need is an existence that an angel can follow, no matter what it is--!_

 

The desire took hold of him then, the craving for something so pure it would obliterate every stain, every scar. It filled him with bliss more intense than drugs, a fierce need that sparked and merged with his anger, teasing his body with ecstasy after he had been so numb to it.

 

It can’t be that far away... He had a feeling that the object was just inches away from him. Something like him, something with an impulse to raze everything in the world to the ground. Surely it existed, the flame of a new revolution that would burn all filth away, like changing a new bedsheet.  He recalled all those rumors, quiet and covert, floating through the colonies over the years like a dying breath, keeping embers alive. All the unanswered prayers of Spacenoids as each attempt at change failed.

 

It had to be out there. All of space was craving it.

 

 

[tbc]

 

**Author's Note:**

> extrapolated from Gundam Unicorn Vol9 Chapter 2, part 5: Angelo v Banagher fight, when Banagher mind rapes Angelo:
> 
> FANTRANS OF ORIGINAL SECTION: http://www.baka-tsuki.org/project/index.php?title=KSGU:Volume_9_Chapter_2#Part_5


End file.
